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 Sep 2017 betterdays
v V v
10,000
early morning muses
but sometimes late at night

he brings enough sun
to make 1000 poems look easy

he is the leaven to our loaves and
the tequila to our margaritas

positively
positive he works through
the dark of night
to bring us light
and for the full effect
of his efficacy
drink dark coffee
first

then
sufficiently caffeinated
awakened and ready
to read
put in the work
to discover the words
his encouraging words of life
and maybe you’ll burn to earn
a bonus of how to survive
so very little sleep

for me

personally
its more about
the lines between the lines
than those not spoken at all
or written at all
rather realized
                                  
if I were to
focus on others
half as much as he
then maybe my life
would be less miserably
my own

more jokes than yokes
and less wails to no avails
no non-satiated regrets
or cratered frustration
rather
peace in a storm of senility

he writes for us all
with a message of hope
like the god of HP he sees
we are radiating rays
positivity pointed
one and all and
all together at
the same time
toward heaven

he moves freely
amongst our home page
from whence did he come?

from the fourth dimension
he brings forth conjuration

his style is love
his style is hope
his style is empathy
his style is encouragement
his style is truly who he is

he is an early morning beacon
bewildering
he comes from the east
to rise across our browsers
seeking the infection of discovery
in each hissy fit writ
we write
Yes indeed Joel, it is about time.
These words are his words, they are barely my own rather collected
and displayed as an ode to Nat.
 Sep 2017 betterdays
Nat Lipstadt
this debt, this book, this tort,
so overdue, uncivil wrong demanding reconciliation,
that the librarians sent the hoodlums
to remind me of my obligations

there must be unfinished, three or four Gebbie precursors,
lying about awaiting further final definition
unmarshaled me, unable to see them through to completion,
but my hindsight, my guilty plea, aided by an assertive,
rear self-kicking, offers me some motivation immediacy

When I see the Auckland Sky Center in photos,
a hard hatted man with softest heart always,
is on top, doing his native Aussie global
(in place) walkabout, better to see,
the cubature volume of the global poetry underneath his feet,
the poetic underworld, needing a
Gebbie supervisory drilling read down

Enough!

unsatisfactory above this ditty notation for one who
tenders unto me comforting words that
drill down so deeply, keeping,

"the night shall not disrobe you,"

that only a single rhyming word
is satisfactory but yet too,
is insufficient to capture
the audio of innards weeping

surely aware, the nighttime, is when I best my own analytics,
disrobing in a room of black letters on a white background
for all who stumble by moonlight on the bards of "perchance,^"
giving pieces of me to the those who not only read my verses,
but those who ken
that the unspoken spaces in between,
containers of what is not writ,
but only modestly well hid,
is where lies oft the more important script

and he gets that...

where the skills when most needed?
his precision will deserves artistry, not sophistry,
and I am flailing, failing inadequately to pay my overdue

it is early morn in Taranaki,
perhaps he will see this lackey's lacking insufficiency,
before he goes climbing man-made towers
that bear witness
to mens bigger dreams,

perhaps when he returns later tonight,
in a snifter of old malt scotch,
his "last one for the road"
he will see it floating,
and think of me,
this time, happily,
disrobing mine soul's own nighttime,
trusting him to keep all safe,
entrusting it to him,
and to Janet,
my best,
red and black,
sweetest dreams

<>
https://hellopoetry.com/marshal-gebbie/

9/5/17 13:55pm
Outside is calm,
The shrieks have ceased;
The sounds of laughter
Left our streets.
The chalk lines faded
Like summer tans,
The derelict castles
Lie in the sand.
The swings sit still,
The splash downs vacant,
The parents have gladly abdicated,
Relinquished reins and riding crops,
The mowers, rakes and garden tools;
For the kids are finally back at school.
Donuts on doorsteps of Chateaux in Chesburgh
Coffee sipped black and enjoyed super strong,
Evening on terraces’ gold light at sunset
Wish you were here, babe, to **** up the song.
Glint in the eye of a softness and ****
Laughter rings loud at the humour in air
Magical moments, when cups runneth over
Sand twixt the toes and sweet wind in the hair.
Move to the beat of that rhythmical rumbah
Twitch as the petticoats flash as we glance,
Spinning in sensuous glide with the music
Sweat running down a wet back as we dance.

Memories flash of those magical moments
Tasted with relish of tang and no care,
Donuts on doorsteps of chateaux in Chesburgh
Laughter in eyes and a song in the air.

M.
Europe 1979
if you think
love is
someone else
if you think
love is
quoting poetry
if you think
love is
flowers on valentine's day
think again.
if you think
love is
waiting for someone to see you
if you think
love is
a kiss
if you think
love is
only there when you are good
think again.
love is
you.
love is
writing love letters and poems to yourself.
love is growing flowers on your garden.
love is seeing and knowing yourself.
love is not a kiss
and love isn't only there when you are good.
love sees you and your brokenness
and love loves it
and love loves you
and love is you.
 Sep 2017 betterdays
CA Guilfoyle
Fallen leaves, mud and trees
roots, willowy dark and deep
tangled and moving through the water
legs and feet, the moon-green heat
August's fiery stars, the red blood of mars
fretful season of fires and floods.
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